


fortune and flame (show you the way)

by dangerousgays



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Coming In Pants, Dirty Talk, Dry Humping, Finger Sucking, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Makeup, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 21:03:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20495303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dangerousgays/pseuds/dangerousgays
Summary: "Fuck, Frank," Gerard breathes, rutting forwards, words coming in a rush like he hadn't exactly planned on Frank letting him do this. "You're so hot, want to—""Yes," Frank interrupts. "Yes. You can— whatever.""Whatever, huh?" Gerard hums, and the hand on Frank's thigh goes to his waistband, one finger dipping underneath. "Kinda slutty, Frankie.""Yeah," he says, humming into Gerard's neck, because whatever, it's true. "I'm sorta easy.”





	fortune and flame (show you the way)

**Author's Note:**

> sorry 4 th lil hiatus ive had zero motivation lately but ?? check end notes 4 more but enjoy this n comment ur thoughts <33

Frank knows if he turns towards the almost full-length mirror, he'll be able to see how red his cheeks are, even with all the makeup. 

Gerard's not done, yet— not even close. He's still working on Frank's hair, and after that he has to do his eyeshadow, violently red, then the Xs over both eyes. 

Frank's not sure how much longer he'll last, though, because Gerard is all up in his space, completely ignoring the concept of a personal bubble, standing between Frank's spread legs where Frank's sat in a chair. His (way-too-tight) shirt is riding up high right in front of Frank's nose, pale soft skin right there, so close that Frank can see tiny freckles that barely contrast. 

The lights in the room are so bright that there's a slight blue halo around Gerard, and he just looks even more ethereal for it, even more otherworldly. 

Fuck, Frank thinks, relaxing into Gerard's touch even though he doesn't want to. He really is gone for this asshole. 

Gerard's hands are in his hair, gently tugging and smoothing and pressing and pulling and Frank is going to fucking lose it. 

"Hold still," Gerard scolds, flicking his gaze down to Frank's for a second with a little smile, and he doesn't know it but Frank can't not when Gerard says it like that, even though he hates it, hates doing what he's told. It's just something about Gerard's voice, smoke and ice and cold, silver water over river-rocks. 

"Good," Gerard says, and okay, maybe that makes it a little better. 

His fingers dance one, two more times in Frank's hair, and then he pulls back, one hip cocked and his lip caught between his teeth, to study his handiwork, like Frank's hair is just another creation of his, just another sculpture or painting or sketch. 

Gerard turns and grabs the eyeshadow palette from the vanity, and Frank watches him twirl around the room behind him in the mirror, finding brushes and tubes and boxes that Frank can't possibly fathom the uses of. Granted, he's brought this upon himself, by asking Gerard to do his show makeup, but he knows he'll look just that much better for it. 

Frank hadn't really planned on popping a boner during it, though, but as long as Gerard doesn't plan on sitting directly in his lap, he should be fine. Just fine. 

Besides, he'd really rather sit in Gerard's lap, but whatever. 

Frank watches Gerard approach him in the mirror. Gerard catches his eye and smiles, soft and delicate, like a secret. 

"Close your eyes," he says as he rounds the chair, and his voice is just as soft, so unlike his usual self, all his angles and lines and harsh, bold colors. 

Frank does. 

The second Gerard so much as puts the eyeshadow brush to Frank's eyelid, he twitches. Gerard tries again, but Frank can't not— no matter what, his eye spasms. 

"Stop," Gerard says, and even without being able to see his face Frank can hear the hint of humor in the word. "C'mon, Frankie." 

"Can't," Frank says, and he can feel a smile of his own tugging at the corner of his mouth. But he'd forgotten that to Gerard, every denial is a challenge, and he startles when he feels warm fingers on the outside of his knees, callouses against the exposed skin through the rips, gently pressing his legs together. 

"What—" he starts, but then Gerard— he opens his eyes, now, because he can't sort out what's happening from touch alone— Gerard straddles his legs, one of his on either side of Frank's, and leans in close, almost chest-to-chest. 

He's warm, warm in Frank's lap, and Frank is still hard, good god, he's not going to survive this. "Close 'em," Gerard says again, and Frank does, hoping his shallow breaths go unnoticed— although he's not sure how they could, with how close together they're pressed.

The raucous Frank can hear from the stage, the techies and roadies, the banter from their openers and the rest of the band in the other rooms backstage— it all fades away into white noise when Gerard cups one side of his chin and presses his thumb to the outside of Frank's eye, so his lid can't twitch when Gerard swipes the brush across. 

"Look at that," Gerard says, and Frank snorts quietly as not to move his face so much. He can practically feel the smugness in Gerard's tone. "Doing so good, Frankie." 

Frank really wishes Gerard wouldn't say things like that, especially not when their dicks are, like, within dangerous proximity of each other. "Thanks," he rasps, and the word disappears into the empty room. "I try."

Gerard shifts closer still and keeps working on Frank's eyeshadow, smudging or blending or whatever he does, fuck if Frank knows. 

He lets go of Frank's chin, sliding his thumb down his cheekbone as he does, and Frank shivers, a zing of nice! lancing down his spine, He switches hands to do Frank's other eye. 

Finally, fucking finally, Gerard lets go completely, but he stays sitting on Frank's legs. 

Frank opens his eyes, and Gerard is right there, studying his face thoughtfully, like he's never really looked at Frank before. 

"It looks good," he says lowly, putting the palette and the brush on the vanity behind him to the left of the mirror. "Looks real pretty, Frank." 

"I wanna see," Frank says, because he knows it will, if he could just get a glimpse, but Gerard's body is so close to his that it blocks almost his whole view of the mirror. 

"Not yet," Gerard says, with a click of his tongue, turning to grab a black marker-looking thing. "Let me do the Xs first." 

"Fine," Frank huffs, like he'd been planning on arguing. 

Gerard doesn't even make fun of him, like he knew Frank wouldn't. 

He scoots even closer, presses his hips up as he puts one hand behind Frank's neck and starts to carefully drag the face-paint marker across Frank's face and— and oh, that's contact, solid contact, dick-on-dick action. 

"Fuck," Frank says, but he can't move, to get away or to get more friction. Gerard's got him pinned with his hips and the hand on the nape of his neck and he can feel himself flushing, down to his collarbone, embarrassed. He opens his mouth, starts to apologize, but—

"Stop moving," Gerard says, his focus still on the makeup, like his dick isn't up against Frank's. "Let me finish, close your other eye."

Frank closes both. Gerard presses down harder with his hips, and he's got to feel what Frank's packing, there's no way he can't now. Frank lets his mouth drop open, breathing heavier but trying to keep it quiet, because all of a sudden there's not enough oxygen in the room. 

"Good, Frankie," Gerard hums, dragging the tip of the face paint down Frank's cheek agonizingly slow. "Doing so good, almost done." 

Frank just keeps breathing harshly. His brain has all but abandoned him and he can't do anything else but sit there and wait for Gerard to finish— but god, does he wish Gerard would hurry up so he can get out, out of this room and this situation. 

"Done," Gerard says, and he stands up off of Frank's legs and grabs one of Frank's wrists to haul him up before he's even opened his eyes. He turns Frank to face the mirror and sidles up behind him, so close Frank can feel the heat of his body. "Take a look." 

Frank's cock is evident in the mirror, straining against his jeans, but that's not what Gerard's talking about, obviously. 

The makeup looks fantastic, so much better than it does when Frank smudges it on with the tips of his fingers and the eyeliner pencil he still has from middle school. It's bold and even and smooth, and when he catches Gerard's eye in the mirror, Gerard looks— he looks proud. 

"You look great," Gerard says, holding his gaze in the mirror. "But you can't go on stage like this, can you?" 

Frank's not really sure what Gerard means (he's a little slow, sometimes, okay?) until Gerard lets go of his wrist and plasters himself against his back, pushing Frank forward until his thighs are pressed against the edge of the vanity. Frank can feel his heart going rabbit-fast, but he doesn't move. He can't move. 

Gerard's breath keeps ghosting along his collarbone, his neck, behind his ear, hot and heavy and promising— of what, though, Frank doesn't know. He's never exactly been the best at hiding how he feels about Gerard, but Gerard— Gerard's never—

A hand slides down to his right thigh, sending shocks straight to his crotch, more sensitive than he should be. He tilts his head back to rest on Gerard's shoulder, eyes falling closed. 

Gerard's left hand goes to his hip, and he gets under Frank's shirt to start to rub circles with his thumb, teasing and light and so not enough. 

Emboldened by Gerard's actions, whatever the fuck this is, Frank pushes back against Gerard, rocking his ass into Gerard's cock. 

"Fuck, Frankie," Gerard breathes, rutting forwards, words coming in a rush like he hadn't exactly planned on Frank letting him do this. "You're so hot, want to—"

"Yes," Frank interrupts. "Yes. You can— whatever."

"Whatever, huh?" Gerard hums, and the hand on Frank's thigh goes to his waistband, one finger dipping underneath. "Kinda slutty, Frankie."

"Yeah," he says, sort of into Gerard's neck, because whatever, it's true. "I'm sorta easy." 

Gerard pushes his hand down the front of Frank's pants, between his jeans and his boxers, and presses down on his cock. "Gonna get you off like this," he murmurs into Frank's ear, circling his dick through the fabric with one finger. "Gonna be so messy, coming in your pants, Frankie." 

Frank groans, tries to rut into Gerard's hand to get something, anything more, but Gerard's other hand on his hip grips harder, holding him in place. Gerard starts to move his hand against Frank's cock, jacking him through his boxers. "You gonna take what I give you?" he asks, voice low, right in Frank's ear. 

"Fuck, yeah," Frank moans, voice breaking when Gerard grabs him roughly through his boxers. "God, please—" He wants it, wants it so bad, and he didn't think he'd ever get it, not from Gerard, not like this—

"That's it," Gerard encourages, rubbing Frank's dick harder, firmer, but still maddeningly slow. Frank can feel Gerard's hard-on, too, pressed against his ass, but he can't focus on anything but the warm hand on his cock, the fingers splayed across his hip. "Wanna hear you, Frankie."

"Please," Frank chokes out. He can feel himself leaking, painfully hard, and Gerard just isn't doing enough, isn't giving him enough. 

The hand leaves Frank's hip, dragging roughly across his skin, and he heaves a sigh. Maybe finally, fucking finally, Gerard will let him rut into his hand, fuck into his fingers— but Gerard has other plans, too. 

Frank gasps and opens his eyes when he feels fingers twine around his throat, forcing him to look up, look into the mirror. Gerard squeezes lightly, in time with his massaging movements on Frank's dick, and leans forward to lick the top of Frank's ear. 

"Look at yourself," Gerard says, still groping Frank through his boxers, rubbing and circling, the fabric getting wetter and wetter. "Getting off with my hand like a good little boy." 

Frank finally does raise his eyes to the mirror, and god, he looks like a whore, bent slightly over the vanity, Gerard's hand moving where it’s down the front of his pants, his mouth open and wet. Gerard meets his gaze and keeps talking, eyes dark. 

"You're so fucking wet," he says, stopping his movements and splaying his fingers across Frank's dick. "Dripping for me, baby. Want me to touch your cock? Wanna come for me?" His eyes trap Frank's, and Frank can't look away from the picture they make, his makeup and Gerard's hand on his dick and Gerard's body pressed against him from behind. The hand around his neck tightens, and he gasps again, a buzz of too-much-not-enough going straight to his cock. 

Jesus fuck, would Frank ever love to, but it's not gonna happen if Gerard fucking stops again. "Please," he says, voice hoarse, vibrating against the fingers pressing against his windpipe. "Please, Gee, touch me, keep touching me, god—"

"Whatever you want, baby," Gerard coos. "God, you have such a nice ass." He starts to rut against Frank, moving his hips in a rough circle, just enough to slide his cock against Frank's ass. 

"Fuck," Frank keeps begging, because Gerard's hand is still not moving, is still just feeling Frank up through his underwear, groping. "Fuck, Gerard, jack me, please—"

Gerard doesn't say anything, but his breath is uneven in Frank's ear, heavy and hot. He slides his hand out of Frank's pants and Frank is really about to cry, because no, what the fuck, he needs to come, when Gerard shoves his hand down inside his underwear instead. Gerard's head falls, pressing into Frank's neck, and Frank almost startles when Gerard starts to nibble and lick along his shoulder, just enough to make Frank's blood buzz. 

He's never felt anything like it, Gerard's hand wrapped around his cock, which is stupid, because he's had a lot of hands on his dick (He's easy, okay?). But it's different, especially when Gerard starts to move, a little too dry and a little too rough and a little too fast and it's absolutely perfect. Frank is so fucking wet that soon, it's not uncomfortable, and the slide gets even easier when Gerard smears his pre-cum up and down his length. 

Gerard keeps thrusting his hips against Frank, insistent and strong, and Frank can't help but wonder what it'd be like, to take it up his ass, to let Gerard fuck him raw. He'd do it in a heartbeat, he thinks. Maybe even right now, if Gerard wanted. 

Every time Gerard ruts forward, he pushes Frank harder into his hand, forces him to fuck harder into the tight circle of Gerard's fingers. It's rough and perfect and Frank isn't going to last, not with the way Gerard's hand fits perfectly in the hollow of his throat, his pulse throbbing against Gerard's thumb. 

"Gonna come," he groans out, grabbing onto Gerard's wrist. "Gonna jizz my pants, please, Gee—"

Gerard bites down on the junction between Frank's neck and shoulder one more time, laves his tongue across the spot, before raising his head again. His movements speed up on Frank's cock, fingers rippling, and he tightens his grip on Frank's throat. 

"Fuck yeah, Frankie," he groans, and for the first time, he sounds as gone as Frank feels. "Come for me, baby." He drags his thumb through Frank's slit, and Frank shudders, god, he's so fucking close. 

Gerard pistons his hips against Frank's ass one more time, before stopping to just rub his cock against Frank's back, gyrating. 

"Are you gonna come in your pants for me, sweetheart?" he whispers, voice dangerously low. "You gonna ruin your underwear, humiliate yourself for me?" 

Frank whimpers, because holy hell, Gerard's voice, conflictingly smooth and uneven and right up against his skin does things to him, makes him leak even more, makes his balls draw up tight. "More, more, more, yes," he chants, voice scratching out through Gerard's fingers. 

"Come for me, whore," Gerard says, and it sounds vaguely pleading, like he wants Frank to come just as badly as Frank himself does. He grinds his cock even harder against Frank's ass, the small of his back, presses it between Frank's cheeks best he can through the layers of clothing. "Ruin yourself for me, fill your pants like a dirty little slut." 

Yeah, that does it for Frank. 

He explodes in his pants, cock pulsing all over Gerard's fingers as Gerard tugs him through it, hot cum filling his underwear. He watches in the mirror through lidded eyes as it soaks through his pants, leaving a wet spot on the front. 

Gerard slides the hand from his throat to rub at his nipples through his shirt, plucking and pinching. 

"God, baby," Gerard hums, sounding pleased and fucked-out himself even though Frank hasn't touched him. "So fucking messy, so hot, humiliating yourself for me like that."

Gerard keeps milking him until he's spent, and eventually he pulls his hand out of Frank's pants. He keeps Frank pressed up against the vanity, though. He brings his fingers, dripping with Frank's cum, up to Frank's mouth. 

"Suck," he says. "Clean 'em off, baby." 

Frank opens his mouth, and Gerard shoves two of them against his tongue. He wraps his tongue around them as best he can, sucking hard, tasting himself and Gerard, watching in the mirror. 

Finally, Gerard pulls them out, and Frank watches the glistening trail of spit and come it leaves on his cheek when Gerard drags the digits across his face towards his ear. 

“Fuck, Frankie,” Gerard hums, but the words aren’t loaded anymore, aren’t heavy with lust even though Gerard hasn’t gotten off. “C’mere.”

He spins Frank around by the waist and keeps him there, hands on each of Frank’s hips, pressing him back against the vanity. 

Somehow, looking at Gerard like this, in the aftermath, is harder than it had been to look at him in the mirror when he’d been getting Frank off. But Gerard doesn’t seem phased in the slightest, eyes trailing across Frank’s face like he never wants to see anything else, like it’s the only thing he can see. 

“Gee,” Frank starts, but Gerard shushes him. He’s sort of glad, because he’s not sure where he was headed with that, whether he was going to apologize or offer to get Gerard off or ask if he should pretend it never happened. 

“Shh,” Gerard hushes, but it’s not an order, not a demand. It’s meant to be calming, and it works, Frank’s rabbit heart slowing just a little. His thumbs rub circles over Frank’s hips, almost like they had before, but this time instead of sending Frank into a tizzy, they pull him out. 

“C’mere,” Gerard says again, and lets go of Frank’s hips to wrap his arms around Frank’s waist and pull him into a hug. 

It feels safe. 

When Gerard finally pulls back, he keeps one arm around Frank. He reaches up with the other, smooths Frank’s hair, runs the pad of his thumb under Frank’s eye. 

He’s nervous, Frank realizes belatedly. Gerard doesn’t know what to do. 

“You should kiss me,” Frank says, matter-of-factly. 

“I— what?” 

“If you want,” Frank hurries to add. 

Gerard pulls him in gently by his waist and kisses him, soft and slow, tongue just barely flicking between their lips. 

Frank pulls back first, overwhelmed and underwhelmed simultaneously, because he— well, it was a good kiss, that’s not the problem, he just thought that maybe, maybe kissing Gerard would make sparks fly, make everything fall into place, make everything make sense. 

When Frank looks up, though, and sees Gerard looking right back at him, eyes bright and hopeful and warm, he knows why. 

Everything already does make sense. He just hadn’t realized it yet.

“There’s stagecall,” Gerard says softly. Frank hadn’t even heard. Gerard reaches up, tugging on Frank’s hair, playful and teasing. “You ready?” he asks, and it’s a loaded question, like maybe he’s not just talking about the show. 

“Always,” Frank answers, and maybe he’s not either.

**Author's Note:**

> i have like. seventeen wips. for some reason i cannot finish them. my brain is sort of haywire at the moment, but theres always new stuff comin including ur requests!! 
> 
> i hope u enjoyed this nd if u want another part of it let me know?? thank u for ur comments nd kudos!!


End file.
